


Fade away

by Zaira_Angel



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Body Image, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 14:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4964545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaira_Angel/pseuds/Zaira_Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanity has always been one of Dorian's better qualities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: Eating Disorder. Distorted behaviors(restricting). Body image issues.

Dorian stood by a mirror going about his standard grooming routine, the sun filling his room with the gentle orange light of early morning. Bull had left the windows open again, as if the holes in the roof didn’t let enough of the brisk air in. He’d close them but he recalled his mother gossiping with her friends once, telling them how sitting in a freezing bath help keep her trim and young. It sounded like nonsense at the time, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt him. He looked in the mirror, appraising himself, his eyes fell first on his collarbones. He ran his fingers along them, less pronounced, now almost invisible unless he angled his shoulders just so. He looked its his chest, softer now, but what he noticed most where his hips. Once his frame started broad at the shoulders, narrowing into a sharp V shape, he now found weight on his hips, bulging out to, what Bull referred to as, love handles. And although the Bull had said it so affectionally, Dorian suspected the Bull might have been intentionally egging on his mouthiness with the comment, but it nevertheless needled away at him. He wondered what it could be. He was active more then ever, wondering the countryside killing random strangers with The Inquisitor and, of course, spending his nights with the Bull, with whom he was not a passive participant. It could be the food. Southern food was different from what he was accustomed to. Much like the beer, what it lacked in eloquence it made up for in quantity. Cheese, meat and bread. Simple and satisfying. Dorian enjoyed it, and like the beer, perhaps too much. He felt a tug at his chest, a lump in his throat. None of that now. Swallowing hard, pushing down the emotions swelling in his chest, he thought about covering the mirror, not wanting to see himself in this state , but the Bull would certainly notice that. This was not the sort of discussion he was willing to have with the Bull or anyone for that matter. He gave out an exasperated sigh as he dressed himself. Noticing the all the places his clothes had grown tighter.

 

~~~~

 

Breakfast. This is exactly what Dorian wanted to be around; food. He stood for a moment looking over the crowd of people eating, briefly considering leaving. But before he could turn and leave he locked eyes with Inquisitor Lavellan. She smiled at him warmly waving him over. Sera sat next to her, waving her fork in the air, food still stuck to it as she excitedly told the table about her latest round of pranks she’d been pulling on the nobles visiting. The Bull shooed Verric over to make room for Dorian.

“Hungry?” Lavellan asked, although it was not really a question because before Dorian could answer she had flagged down a serving girl to bring him a plate. Sera continued her her story, waving her hands, snorting with laugher. Something about bees? Cullen? But he couldn’t seem to think about anything other then the food that would soon be placed in front of him. His mind churning, thinking of how he could excuse himself or at least turn away the food. When it came he managed a few bites, more for his friends’ benefit then his, and pushed the plate away. As he did with all things, he managed to made it a spectacle, though it wasn't his intention this time.

“Something wrong?” She asked concerned. Dorian shifted uncomfortably for a moment. He felt eyes on him. Even Sera had stopped her story, although he was reasonably sure it’s because she was done telling it.

“Too much to drink last night, I’m afraid.” He said, avoiding her eyes. But he cursed at himself when he felt the Bull’s eyes on him. Bull was with him last night and knew exactly how much they had to drink, and it was not to excess. Thankfully the Bull kept his mouth shut, but Dorian knew he’d be hearing about it later, away from the others. Dorian was hungry though. And the food was tempting. He wanted to stay, listen to Sera’s mischievous exploits and Verric’s extravagant stories about The Champion. But he found it hard to concentrate on anything other then the food around him. He was hungry, but the thought of eating tied knots of anxiety into the pit of his stomach. He excused himself, blaming it on a headache and the nosey tavern. He gave the Bull’s shoulder a squeeze, gentle and reassuring, as he left. Hoping it would be enough to keep the other man from prying. Of course it was not.

 

~~~~

 

The library was the only part of the castle that didn’t have gaping holes in the walls when they found it, and even with the large arched windows it was much dimmer then most other places in the castle. And it was far away from the noise of the courtyard and the gossiping nobles. Dorian made his set up in a little corner next to a window. The window provided a view and a way to keep track of time. Often in Alexies’s study he would research straight through the night without even knowing it until Felix met him with a sweet roll and tea. Dorian often neglected even his most basic needs when he was deep into researching. And as much as he loved history and culture, magical theory was what really captivated his attentions. Theory is what advanced magic, what too magic from practical to spectacular. Sometimes Felix would sit with him when Dorian found himself stuck, he would poor over his notes rambling on and on. Even when Felix didn’t have any input, Dorian noticed that having someone, a friend, as a sounding board helped him work. He ran a finger over the spines of each book, as if he just wanted to feel something solid. The sound of light footsteps and the gentle clinking of glass drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see Lavellan placing a tray on the desk. Dorian rolled his eyes. She had a mother hen streak in her that was both adorable and infuriating. She’d spent far too long cooing over Bull when he was stricken with a bout of fever. You’d think the hulking brute was a fragile child the way she wrung her hangs. Dorian had taken to physically removing her from the room so the poor man could rest. It could never be said she didn’t take care of her friends. She shot him a smile, holding her hands out to display what she had brought.

“An old Dalish cure to a hangover,” she said brightly. He looked, an eyebrow raised. A small half loaf of bread and a glass tea pot, filled with what Dorian could only assume was tea. But it was light in color almost clear, with only the faintest tint to it. He turned the raised eyebrow to Lavellan, as if to say ‘You expect me to drink that without even the faintest idea of what it is exactly’.

“Alright,” she sighed, having been on the receiving end of that look many times before “It was kind of our clan’s ‘cure-all’. It’s herbal- spindelweed and elfroot mostly, no weird shit, I’m not trying to trick you.”

“A ‘cure-all’?” Dorian asked with a bit of a sneer, in no hurry to drink whatever concoction she had brewed up. She simply nodded, motioning for him to sit. With an exasperated hand wave of submission and head toss, he did.

“Our herbalist mixed it up, dragging out a mage for a hangover or a runny nose isn’t the most practical way to deal with these things,” Dorian noticed she had brought two cups and was now pouring herself one. “It’s also something I came to enjoy. I still drink this at night, reminds me of home.” She had that distant wistful look again. That look that she got whenever she talked about her clan. Lavellan and Dorian had found friendship in that they where both strangers to this land, and both missed their home greatly. But he always found himself a bit envious with the way she talked about her clan, her family. When they sent a letter about her, it was because they gave a damn about her. Dorian family was so obsessed with “The Pavus Legacy”, that’s what was important. As if he himself was an afterthought, a body to fill a space, and nothing more. Lavellan made The Inquisition what she had living in the forest with her clan. And being invited into it was something Dorian held very dear.

“You could a least try it before you brush it off entirely,” Lavellan spoke pulling him out of this thoughts. Dorian did not find her concern endearing at all, and didn’t suppress a smile with a heavy sigh before lifting the cup to his lips. She looked entirely too pleased with herself, like a mother who just convinced her toddler to eat his vegetables. The tea was sweeter then he expected. Warm and light with citrus undertones, sweetened with honey no doubt. And and much as the idea of drinking it made Dorian anxious, he found the trade off of Lavellan hounding him worth it. He even tore a few pieces of bread off and swallowed them down to appease her. When she left him to his reading he left the rest of the bread on the tray. And also neglected his lunch, choosing to stay in his alcove.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian isn't having any feelings, so he's not denying any feelings, honestly he's not sure why you keep bringing it up. Bull being a mother hen is way cute and I'm not going to stop. Dorian struggles with his self worth and Bull may or may not be reading the situation correctly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Food. Anxiety. Body Image issues. Unresolved Feelings. 
> 
>  
> 
> A little fluff, a little angst, a touch of history.

The sound of heavy footsteps and rattling clank of metal was about the only sound that could draw Dorian out of his reading. The incessant fluttering of wings and cawing was something he had grown used to, although he still occasionally complained about it when his mood soured. Bull had told him that his complaining rarely had anything to do with what he was actually complaining about. Those footsteps though, those could draw him out of his deepest broods. Bull’s footsteps. He knew what this was about, Dorian lied. And skipped lunch. Bull was checking up on him. No doubt. He leaned against the bookshelf, the wood groaning threatening to topple down, but it held. But Dorian kept his eyes pointedly on the book before him.

“I know this Corypheus shit is important,” Bull says after a moment “But you still gotta eat, big guy.” 

“I don’t need you checking up on me, Bull,” Dorian lets out a sigh as he snaps the book shut tossing it aside, never looking at Bull directly, afraid he’ll give something away “No wonder The Chargers calls you ‘mother’, I swear you’re as bad as The Inquisitor.” 

Bull cocks his head at the other man’s sudden outburst. Dorian realized that he was speaking much louder then he meant to. The hushed whispers of other researchers had stopped and now eyes where cautiously sneaking glances at him. He was so wound up to fight that he had started one where there was none to be had. Dorian knew he’d given something away, despite his best efforts. Josephine was right, he could make a spectacle out of anything. He pushed himself up, turning away from Bull, closing himself off with arms folded across his chest. Bull made Dorian feel exposed and venerable. Every nerve raw and open. And that is both comforting and terrifying. In his experience lovers made poor confidants. Though Bull was something else entirely, the impulse to deflect remained. 

Floorboards creaked as Bull stepped closer, his hands coming to grip Dorian’s hips gently. The touch is not unwelcome, but Dorian still tenses at it, still not used to such affections. It’s disarming, the gentleness Bull treats him with. It’s something he’s come to enjoy. Even if his better judgment tells him otherwise, he settles himself in Bull’s arms, allowing his finger tips to trace the calligraphy of scars on the Qunari’s massive forearms.

“No luck with the research, I take it?” He asks fondly. Also disarming. 

Dorian’s sigh is somewhere between relief and frustration. Frustration because, no, the research hasn’t been going well. And relief because Bull hadn’t seen Dorian neglecting his meals as anything other then being preoccupied in his research. He had a habit of neglecting even his basic needs, namely food and rest, when he was particularly engrossed in a project. 

Bull pulls at Dorian’s hips, turning him until they face each other. Dorian does not swoon, he would never swoon. That warmth spreading in his chest...That was something else entirely. Dorian resisted the urge to turn away from Bull’s eyes like a smitten adolescent, instead opting to put a hand on the expanse of Bull’s chest as if the solidness would ground him, put some distance between them. Remind him that whatever this was, it fell just short of romance, it had to. He couldn’t hope for more. No one is under any delusions about what is going on here. 

“Like I said,” Bull continued “Ya’ still gotta eat.”

He plants a gentile kiss on Dorian’s forehead. _No delusions at all._

“If you say so.”

~~~~

Bull made Dorian promise to show for dinner and he reluctantly agreed. But as the day grew late and the thought of facing another meal drew nearer, the anxiety grew heavy in the pit of his stomach. Dorian Pavus; The Feared Mage from Tevinter, brought to a quivering mess when faced with a task even the lowest of creatures accomplish through base instinct. It would be funny if the tightness in his chest weren't so real and suffocating. He knows that outright starving himself is a about the worst thing he could possibly do. But he find the very idea of food makes him anxious to the point of picking at his nails, a habit he’s been trying to break Sera of for several weeks. As unpleasant as he finds the thought of food is, he’s scarcely about to think of little else. Skipping a few meals here and there might be easy enough. Though there should be no reason for him to feel so insecure in the first place. It’s all so irrational, coming to hit him in waves. At times feeling solid then suddenly, like his feet where cut from under him, he sinks back to that ugly feeling. 

By the time Dorian shows up to the tavern Bull already has a plate sitting for him. Dorian scolds himself for the flicker of anger that rises up. There was no cause to be angry. If anything Dorian should find the thought endearing, even sweet. Instead he’s annoyed. And for the life of him, he cannot express why the gesture bothers him. He does his best to swallow the feeling. It’s only Varric and Bull at the table. The Chargers are out on a mission. And Dorian suspects Sera and The Inquisitor are...otherwise occupied. They’ve been attached at the lip, and that’s hardly a metaphor. 

Bull’s face changes when he sees Dorian, a crooked grin that lights his entire face and when he slides next to Bull, he puts a hand around Dorian’s waist pulling him close. He’s drunk, though Bull doesn’t consider himself ‘drunk’ until he’s passed out on the floor, so perhaps buzzed is a better term. Either way, The Iron Bull is feeling no pain. Dorian wants to glower at the other man for making such a display. He can’t deny that Bull’s manhandling turns him on. He’d given up on that a while ago. Bull looks at Dorian expectantly, waiting for him to take a bite. And he does, this time he makes a big show of it on purpose, as if to point out the ridiculousness of Bull’s hand wringing. Bull seems satisfied and the attention is back on Varric’s story. But Dorian keeps eating, Bull would notice a full plate. He takes each bite slowly, carefully chewing it. And with each bite he can almost feel the weight on him. 

He can’t finish it. He won’t, only eating enough that Bull won’t bring it up. And he doesn’t. But he can never be sure if Bull notices what he’s doing. Dorian finds it endlessly frustrating that he’s such an open book to Bull. In Tevinter everything is so clandestine. Flirting had almost been a code, almost everything was. And even as brash and bold as Bull was, it was still hard for him to understand the man. His time in the south did little to undo the harsh lessons of a cutthroat Imperium. 

Though still, somewhere deep inside him, Dorian finds comfort in Bull understanding his needs without him having to ask. The rational part of him tells him to throw up defenses, repair the cracks in the rapidly deteriorating walls around his heart. That part of him goes ignored, yet again, when Bull ties his arms above, leaving him exposed in so many ways. Rough callused hands gentle at first, then pressing bruises into his skin as Bull manipulates his body. Dorian could loose himself in this normally but now when Bull grips his hips, strokes his chest, parts his thighs he can only think about how flawed body is. The hard muscle of his chest lost under a layer of fat, his bulging hips, and the gelatinous quiver of his thighs. As much as Dorian want this, wants to be present, he can’t bring himself out of his own head. Not even Bull’s whispers of praise do the job. 

“You alright, Kadan?” Bull asks. Dorian flinches at the endearment. He’s never asked what it meant. When Bull first called him that he was running a fever, he suspected it was an accident. Dorian had been taking care of him. He pressed cool cloths to his head, brought him meals and read to him. Occasionally he shooed a worried Inquisitor away. She had better things to do then wring her hands over Bull. _‘Kadan.’_ He had said bleary one night as Dorian wiped away sweat from his chest. His fingers reached out to touch the other mans face. _No delusions._ Dorian reminded himself again even as he leaned into the touch. But when the fever had gone, the word remained. 

“I didn’t say the word.” Dorian quips.

“Silence isn’t much different.”

Bull pulled away from him and before Dorian could protest he was already untying his arms. Dorian let out a sigh, disappointed that he couldn’t even do this for Bull.

“I’m callin’ it then, big guy, ‘s no fun if your heads not in it.” He said without a hint of judgment, rubbing soothingly at Dorian’s now free wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” Dorian kept his eyes down, pulling his arms away moving to the edge of the bed. He’d managed to mess up the one thing he’s good for. “I should go.”

“None of that, now,” Bull put a hand on his shoulder “You aren’t in the mood you aren’t in the mood, it’s alright. But stay. You’ll sleep better, you always do.”

That was true. Bull’s presence was safe, warm, and familiar. He would often stroke Dorian’s back, up and down occasionally scratching gently at the back of his neck, until he drifted off purring like a spoiled house cat. And at this moment he wanted nothing more then to lay his head on Bull’s chest and drift away listening to his steady heartbeat.

Dorian stays, because he wants to and because Bull asked, ignoring the voice that tells him that such affection is dangerous, that he should run away to avoid the heartbreak this could only lead to. It fades away easily enough as Bull strokes his back, humming low as he does. In those few moments before he falls asleep, he feels okay. Stable, safe and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone's sweet comments and kudos. It means a lot =) I hope you like this next installment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting in a bit of Bull's perspective. 
> 
> Bull goes out on a mission with The Inquisitor and Dorian stays behind to wallow in self-destruction. And Varric's actually pretty damn perceptive.

Bull woke up with Dorian pillowed on his chest. Not so unusual, nowadays, but Bull had worried that he might wake up to an empty bed. Dorian had never slept with him without, well, sleeping with him. Bull suspected it’s the reason Dorian never invited him to his own quarters, another trick the mage had picked up in Tevinter, no doubt. It was always easier to leave before your left. A bitter pill for anyone to swallow, but especially someone like Dorian. 

It would be lie if Bull said he wanted Dorian to stay for his benefit alone. It felt good waking up like this, the other man nestled into his arms, hair in disarray, sleeping peacefully. He’d left the windows open, because he liked the mountain air and if Dorian happened to nestle himself a bit closer to escape the cold, that was just a bonus. He brushed a few inky strands of hair away from the younger man’s face letting out a little sigh of contentment. Bull was an early riser, Dorian less so. But Bull had ways of gentling rousing his bed partner from sleep when the morning light trickling from the splintered roof wasn’t enough. 

~~~~

Dorian was poking at his breakfast, glowering at it like it had personally wronged him. And given how he felt about most southern food, especially the porridge, it might have. He’d eaten the pastry that came with it, like always, it was about the only thing he ate willingly at breakfast.

“I don’t understand how you southerners eat this,” He said pushing away the bowl, wrinkling his nose “It’s hardly a step above gruel.”

“Well, it’s cheap, and easy to make,” Varric shrugged “Just be glad they use cream and not water to make it.”

“Then it would be gruel.” Dorian pointed out, swiping a piece of bacon from Bull’s plate. 

Before Bull could chastise Dorian for being so prissy, The Inquisitor burst through the tavern door, beaming. 

“Bull!” She chirped. “Just the man I wanted to see.” 

She gave a nod to Varric and Dorian, pulling up a chair. She gestured to Dorian’s rejected bowl.

“Not up to you standards?” 

“It’s bland. Like everything else,” Dorian waved a hand curtly. “You're welcome to it.”

She gave a shrug and snatched it up, never one to turn down a meal. 

“So, Bull,” She continued around a mouthful of porridge, barley containing a crooked grin. “Dragons.”

Now that caught his attentions. The gleam in The Inquisitors eye, the smirk from ear to ear. Bull had a hard time schooling his own expressions when it came to dragons. She want on to give a story about how she had found out about this dragon, and the villages it had attacked, blah, blah, blah. The long and short of it was they where going to fight the thing. And it was going to be glorious. 

“You are both far to excited about this.” Dorian quipped.

“It’s a warrior thing,” Bull explained.

“And you may have noticed our Lady Inquisitor is not a warrior.” 

“But I was a hunter,” She pointed out. “And dragons are pretty much the ultimate game.”

“And I suppose you’re planning on dragging me out in this insane crusade?” Dorian sniffed. 

“I wasn’t actually,” She says finishing the last bit of porridge. “Unless you’re hell-bent on going.”

Dorian tried to hide the relief on his face. He would have gone in a heartbeat if the Inquisitor had asked him. But Bull expected that Dorian didn’t want to be away from his research for that long. Last time they went out they where gone the better part of six weeks, though they had been together. Bull wasn’t exactly keen about the prospect of being away from Dorian for that long, but he’s never going to turn down the chance to fight a dragon. The Inquisitor told him to be ready to head out in a few hours, and with that she practically skipped out of the tavern. 

~~~~~

Bull departed shortly after The Inquisitor but not without a quip about not being able to give Dorian a proper farewell. Dorian rolled his eyes, smiling fondly despite himself. 

“So, Sparkler, ” Varric pipped up only after Bull had disappeared completely above the stairs “You gonna actually eat that or was that just for his benefit.”

Varric gestured pointedly at the bacon he’d taken from Bull’s plate earlier. Bull didn’t mention it. He figured if Bull didn’t notice, no one would have. 

“It’s a bit underdone for my tastes.”

“How would you know? You didn’t even try it.”

“What are you getting at, Varric?” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest defensively. Annoyed more then angry, although there was a bit of that as well. Everyone was so obsessed with food, specifically him eating it, or not eating it as the case may be.

“I’m not getting at anything,” Varric shook his head looking back to the parchment in front of him “Just an observation.” 

“Yes, well despite what you all seem to think I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” The annoyance gave way to the anger and Dorian pushed himself up with more force then was strictly necessary. As he stormed away an uneasy worry settled into his gut. Though he couldn’t be sure if it was from not eating or the worry that people are onto him. 

Out of habit more then anything, he wound up at Bull’s door. Bull is standing with his back turned from the door packing his bag. The door was left open, Bull had been expecting him. Dorian stood in the doorway for a moment. Bull was, without a doubt, the largest man Dorian had ever seen. He took a moment to admire his hulking frame. His eyes fallow the curvature of his muscles as he moves, the innumerable scars crisscrossing his back...

“Enjoying the view?” Bull’s voice pulled Dorian back to reality. Bull shot a knowing look over his shoulder. A rakish grin spread across Dorian’s face as he closes the space between them, fingertips tracing the muscles and scars he’d been admiring earlier. 

“We had a rather lackluster night,” Dorian said “I thought I could make it up to you, before you leave.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me, Dorian.” Bull turned so they where face to face. Dorian pushed against Bull’s chest, suggestively smiling up at him. It wasn’t enough force to actually push him anywhere, but Bull complied with the unspoken order. Even sitting Bull is still at eye level to Dorian. He leaned in for a kiss, slow and drawn out, his fingers traced the shell of Bull’s ear. 

“I want to.” He says breathily settling between Bulls legs, quieting any further protest.

~~~

It wasn’t their style. Bull usually did the heavy lifting, so to speak. But it felt good. For a lot of reasons. It felt good to be wanted by someone like Bull, it felt good to hear words of praise fall from his lips, it felt good to feel his massive hand tangle in Dorian’s hair, impossibly gentle as always. Deep down, he was a selfish man. Bull gave and gave to him in ways he didn’t deserve. But that was something he could do. Though it wasn’t enough to quell the guilt lingering just under the surface. Lying came naturally to Dorian and he rarely felt any guilt for it, but lying to Bull proved difficult. Not only because Bull had the potential of seeing through him, but because of all Bull did for him. Lying to him felt like he was throwing it all back in Bull’s face. 

Dorian watched The Inquisitor leave with Bull, Cassandra and Blackwall from the window. He supposed it really was a ‘warrior thing’. He could never understand warriors, not truly, there was a fundamental divide. Not that he couldn’t appreciate the strength they possessed, but it was so primitive. He could never understand why people enjoyed watching armored brutes bash into one another.

More over he couldn’t figure out what drew him to Bull, or what drew Bull to him. Apart from being handsome, there wasn’t much he could offer Bull. Moreover It was hard to remember who started what first. Bull made advances but it was Dorian who answered them. And it was Dorian who kept coming back over an over. 

It was a terrible idea then, and it’s a terrible idea now. It’s a terrible, awful idea that he plans to continue for the foreseeable future. He turned from the window, settling down in his chair, doing his best to ignore the tremble he felt from his self-imposed starvation. And after the foreseeable future? Something tugged at his chest. After. Dreadful thing. After.

~~~~

 _“Keep an eye on the ‘vint, will ya’?”_ Bull told Varric at the gate. He nodded waving his hand dissuasively. It wasn’t necessary to ask Varric. Dorian had landed himself on the dwarf’s list of friends a long time ago, and Varric took care of his friends. He’d slip a servant a few extra coins to bring Dorian’s meals to him and invite him to join a game of wicked grace to coax him away from his books. Mostly he asked Varric because there was an uneasy feeling somewhere in the back of his mind that Bull couldn’t shake. It started when Dorian lied about being hungover. Then there was last night. Usually when Dorian found himself frustrated with research he appreciated the distraction Bull provided. 

It was weird. The whole damn thing had little warning bells going off in his head but he couldn’t seem to nail down a reason for it. There was a reason the Qun forbade relationships, they clouded judgment. It’s hard to see things for how they are when you’re wrapped up in another person’s shit. And Dorian had a lot of shit between his family, his upbringing and just the general shittiness of Tevinter. Not that Bull didn’t have shit. _Bullshit,_ he smiled at his own pun. 

The reality was that Bull didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect Dorian to take him up on his offer and he didn’t expect this to become such a regular thing. He didn’t expect so many of the mage’s belongings to end up in his room. He didn’t expect how much space Dorian occupied in his mind. And he never expected the lengths he would go to make him smile, in that particular way where he would toss his head, roll his eyes and call Bull a brute. 

Damn. _That smile._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may take a bit longer because holy 10 hour shifts batman. This was going to be longer but I split it up so I could give you guys something. So part 4 is well on the way, but I'm poor and can't turn down that sweet sweet overtime. Thank you guys so much for reading =) I hope you continue to enjoy this. 
> 
> Also HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Stay safe, darlings!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian sometimes forgets people give a crap about him. And instead of talking to them, he drinks his feelings away. Bonus: Bull kills a Dragon.
> 
> Trigger warning for Food Restriction, Alcoholism, Cannon Typical Violence.

The first few days after The Inquisitor had left with her party Dorian didn’t bother to eat. Didn’t even set foot in the tavern. It was easy enough to loose himself in his research and keep the edge off the hunger pangs by sipping warm tea. But by the time the sun was high on the third day he found his hands shook terribly and he couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. It was foolish to outright starve himself, and he should have known it was not something he could keep up, but the thought of swallowing food drew up enough anxiety to override the sensible part of his mind. It was when he attempted to push himself up from his chair and his vision was clouded by black spots and a wave of dizziness hit him like a maul. He luckily caught himself, and supported himself with the arm of his chair, preventing a fall directly on the floor. His limbs felt weak even as they supported him, unsteady hands attempting to keep him on unsteady feet. He wondered what would await him in the tavern that night, should he go. 

As it turned out, he didn’t need an excuse. No one asked. He when to the tavern that night and Varric and Sera where chatting. Sera’s laughter distant and loud over everything else. 

“Sparkler!” Varric greeted him, his face slightly flushed, whether from the ale or his rambunctious laughter Dorian couldn’t be sure, but he suspected it was both. 

“Done sulking up in your tower, eh?” Sera asked.

“I was not sulking.” Dorian sat across the table from her. A crooked grin still plastered on her face but sympathy in her eyes. Despite everything they had survived, it was still nerve wracking to watch The Inquisitor’s party walk out of Skyhold. It was easy to forget that Bull, with all his scars and strength, was not invincible. At least it was easy for Bull to forget. Dorian was acutely aware of how mortal Bull was, having been thrown into a future where the man lay dead before his eyes. Watching him leave there was always a pang of worry, a flash of that future, a nagging question of _‘will he come back?’_ . It was easier when he was there himself, a deluded notion that he could keep his friends any safer then they could keep each other. And Dorian imagined it was much the same for Sera. He returned the sympathetic look, a weak smile and nod.

“You up for a game?” Varric sat back in his chair shuffling cards, still flushed and smiling. 

“Always.” Dorian grinned.

~~~

He ate carefully and slowly. He’d managed to avoid a full meal but he need to eat something, if only to prevent himself from toppling over again. He picked at some bread, taking off small pieces, chewing them carefully. Mostly he drank. And the lack of food meant the liquor did it’s work much faster. He was thankful for it. It took the edge off, and soon he felt light and almost normal. He laughed at his friends’ stories and played cards late into the night. 

“‘tha’s it!” Sera slurred. “I’ve lost enough coin to ya’ arseholes.” 

She stumbled as she pushed herself up. She’d been fairing pretty well, but as the night wore on and she drained pint after pint she started loosing, though neither of them where any match for Varric. Usually by this time of night Dorian would have already been in Bull’s bed. Instead Dorian had downed more ale then he would have, as if he could forget the conspicuous absence of the warrior at his side.

“I don’t envy the hangover you’ll have tomorrow, Sparkler.” Varric didn’t look at him as he collected his winnings. “Shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.” 

Dorian waved his hand dismissively at the dwarf, unable to fully process what Varric was getting. A lazy gesture that would never dissuade a determined man, though he hoped it would. Dorian felt much better then he had for a long time. _Don’t ruin this, please._

“Look,” Varric made eye contact, his tone suddenly serious. “I know you’re convinced that you won’t come out of this alive, but if you keep up this way you’ll be dead before Corypheus gets a chance to do it for you.” 

“It’s fine, Varric, I’m fine.” It was a lie and an obvious one at that. But in his inebriated state he found it difficult to deflect or even thoroughly comprehend what Varric was getting at. 

“I’m just sayin-”

“Leave it be, dwarf.” Dorian met his eyes, doing his best to glare at him. Although it was hard to muster it up the anger. He’s never been an angry drunk. A sad drunk, for sure. That’s what got him into bed with Bull in the first place. He wanted to feel safe, and he wanted to be taken care of. Bull seemed a natural choice in his drunken state. Which said a lot about Dorian’s proclivities, actually. What he wouldn’t give for him to be here now. He felt that pang of longing again. That gentle tug in his chest that made his eyes misty. He finished off his tankard in a few powerful swallows before pushing himself up to unsteady feet. Dorian was not drunk enough for this conversation. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the Thedas for that. And in that moment he couldn’t decide which he wanted more, another drink or out of the tavern, or perhaps away from Varric. He staggered away, the pleasant buzz turning into despondent drunkenness. He stumbled back to his room across the cold dark courtyard. The ache settled in his chest.

What he really wanted was Bull to be there with him. Strong and solid next to him. He missed the man more then the sex. And he was just drunk enough that it didn’t seem entirely shameful.

~~~

As it turns out Dragon slaying wasn’t the only thing The Inquisitor had in mind when he dragged them all out to The Hinterlands. Turns out they where going to do any number of menial tasks for the locals before Bull even saw the dragon. Hunting down Rams and Duffalo, gathering herbs, a bunch of shit that didn’t actually require much fighting besides the occasional rebel mage or rogue templar. Bull got to fight a few bears. But he’d be lying if he’d said he wasn’t getting a bit impatient. 

But then they got into Dragon territory. And Bull could feel his blood began to rush when he saw the beast take off into the sky. They took down a few drakes and dragonlings, as a prelude to the actual thing. Brining down his axe hard, laughing, bellowing. It was all real good shit. 

Then the actual Dragon. The actual, capital ‘D’, High Dragon. And Bull could hardly contain himself, charging into battle with a roar as challenge to the beast itself. 

The Inquisitor kept the party moving to avoid it’s attacks, planing herself on higher ground when the dragon took to the sky. She took the opportunity to plant a few arrows in it’s hide while the warriors gathered strength, taking cover behind boulders that the beast had toppled long before they had even arrived. 

It was ultimately Bull who struck the final blow. Brining his axe down hard over it’s weakened body, cleaving deeply into it’s neck. Then he brought it down again and a third time just to be sure, until it let out a smokey gurgle, a death rattle. The sent of sweat and blood hung heavily in the air. Bull held his axe in triumph. 

“Taarsidath-an halsaam!” He shouted before letting his fall to his side with a dull thud. He wiped away the blood from his face with the back of his hand. 

“Is everyone okay?” The Inquisitor asked, breathing heavly, bow and arrow still in hand. 

“Yes.” Cassandra answered, direct as always. “Some of us are better then others.” Her lip curled into a knowing half-grin as she looked over to Bull. She tossed him an elfroot potion. 

That night it wasn’t the Dragon that Bull’s thoughts turned to. Not entirely at least. It was Dorian, in the heat of battle. Spinning his staff, bringing lighting down upon the Dragon. Freezing the beast with a wave of his hand. And then, when it was all over, tossing the mage over his shoulder. His body still glittering with sweat from the battle. Those desperate little sounds he made when Bull teased him...

It wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it was enough to ease the craving he’d dealt with every night since they’d arrived. He wondered idly if he’d be able to convince Dorian to come along if the chance to slay another Dragon presented itself.

~~~  
Bull had gone for just shy of four weeks and Dorian was still finding himself reaching out for the other man in the middle of the night. He often found himself at Bull’s door instead of his own room out of habit. He always managed to make an excuse that he’d left a book or something personal in Bull’s room although no one ever asked. He supposed it was best to have one, even if it was for just himself. Especially after he’d almost driven himself to tears that night. Maker, he really was pathetic. Sad, drunk and pathetic. A winning combination, truly. It would have been pathetic if it had just been once, but he’d found himself drinking to ease the ache over and over. It was a dull, longing ache in his chest. Different from the bright, angry pain he felt about his father, and different from the cavernous echo that came in waves after Felix died. He’d felt this ache before. In his experience it was a prelude to heartbreak. Dorian had once again messed up a perfectly good thing with feelings. 

Varric had dropped the conversation, but it hadn't stopped him from sending servants with trays of food to his alcove or ordering food on his behalf at the tavern. Dorian picked at the food, carefully. Eating enough to take the worst of the hunger pangs away and mostly for the benefit of Varric. He outright refused the meals brought him with no small amount of guilt on his part. He usually left it for his fellow researchers to eat. 

It was only a matter of time before people started to notice he supposed. Dorian has never been subtle. Even his hurried trysts back in Tevinter had caught the ire of his father. This wasn’t the first time he’d altered his eating habits, in Tevinter it was plenty common among the Altus to restrict food for the sake of weight loss. But it’d been a long time since there had been someone around to worry about it. In fact, he was fairly certain Felix was the only one who had ever needled him about eating, except his mother who did so in the opposite direction. Dorian did everything to the extreme it seemed. _No restraint in love or war._ It applied better to himself then his homeland. 

Dorian had taken to walking the courtyard when his hunger became too much a distraction to continue research. He convinced himself the cold would do him good and the walking proved to ease some of his anxiety. It was peaceful today with much of The Inquisition's soldiers out building bridges or whatever task Cullen had sent them out on. It was something striking the back of his head that drew him out of his meditation. Not enough to hurt, and when he spun around to look he saw a cookie lying on the ground. Then a whistle from above. 

And there was Sera. On a roof. With a plate of cookies. Her legs swinging playfully off the edge. Dorian tried hard to suppress a smile. 

“Oi,” She said beckoning. “Come up here.”

So this was the roof. Sera and The Inquisitor’s roof.

“You bring all the girls you bed up here?” He joked.

“No, ass, roof time is different. Can’t do it on a roof.”

“I’d heard otherwise.”

“Don’t usually go for elves, she’s different.” She said giggling, offering him the plate. “Want one? They’re terrible.” 

He gave a weak chuckle and took one. He didn’t eat it. Just took it, inspecting it carefully. 

“Raisins?”

“What else? Don’t use raisins in Tevinter?”

“Normally we use cinnamon or chocolate.”

“Eugh!” Sera wrinkled her nose. “Dontcha’ put peppers in your chocolate?”

“Not all chocolate. Baking chocolate is different.” 

She hummed and threw a cookie at a passing nobleman, who, in turn, looked around bewildered before stomping off. 

“Too easy sometimes, yeah?” She snickered. “Josie yells but ‘s worth it.”

It seemed the cookies where meant more for throwing then eating. 

“Elle asks me to look out for you when she leaves ya’ know?” She said thoughtfully.

Dorian huffed. So The Inquisitor also feels a ridiculous need to baby him as well.

“Don’t be like that. It’s not like that. She knows people hate ya’ for no other reason then where you come from, even though you left it to come here. I make sure they get what’s comin’.” A sly smile crossed her face. Her mischief was quite legendary. She tossed another cookie to the ground where a flock of birds had gathered. The pecked at it but didn’t seem inclined to actually eat it.

“How’s that?” He asked finally daring to take a bite.

“Put slugs in The Revered Mother’s shoes.”

Dorian nearly spat out his cookie, clasping his hands over his mouth, stifling back laughter. She seemed pleased with herself.

“Thought you’d like that.” She said proudly.

There was a long pause, long by Dorian’s standards. He could never abide by silence. 

“There must have been a reason you asked me up here, I presume?”

“Yeah, well, kinda.” She paused. “I guess to eat my shitty cookies.”

“They really are awful.”

“Better for throwin’ yeah? How ‘bout that asshole?” She gestured to another masked noble. He only considers not doing it for a moment. And She grins as Dorian throws the cookie hitting the masked noble in the back of the head. She cackles and he finds it hard not to join in, laughing deep and loud over something so childish, so common. And somewhere in Tevinter his ancestors are dying all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still lots of work so I'm trying my best to keep getting these out. Had to include a bit of what Bull was up to while Dorian uses all the shitty coping skills at his disposal. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. And Thank you for reading! =)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull returns to a less then healthy Dorian. And the beginning of a long talk with a short friend. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: Weight Loss, PTSD

Just past dawn, when the hazy light of the sunrise had gently transformed into clear, crisp daylight, Dorian hears the return of The Inquisitor and her party. The sound of trumpets clear and loud can be heard nearly anywhere in Skyhold. It would be a few moments before the party actually got to the gate and for a brief moment Dorian considered going to the gate to meet Bull- and the others of course. The idea was quickly swiped aside by his pride. Bull would never mention it and the others might tease, but Dorian needed to remember to pull back. It was easy to get lost in another person. So tangled in them it feels as if they where always there. And when it came time to untangle oneself- there was no reason to make it more painful then it had to be. Better now then later. But Dorian is a weak man. Poor decisions are his specialty. He decides that if he were run into Bull in the main hall it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. The longing ache and the flutter of excitement settles restlessly in his chest as he watches from the window. Sera already has her arms thrown around The Inquisitor, and Dorian can swear he hears her giggling from where he stands. The Bull has a grin plastered on his face, he claps Krem on the shoulder, apparently not able to wait for that evening to share the dragon slaying story. It looks like he might have a few new scars to prove it. Now, Dorian is sure he’s never been smitten. And he’s certainly never been smitten by someone like The Iron Bull. He tells himself this while he absently straightened his clothing before a mirror before looking down from the window. Bull was now almost out of sight, making his way to the main hall.

The hall is mostly quiet apart from the few chattering nobles that lingered hoping to get a glance of their Illustrious Lady Inquisitor. And Bull never goes unnoticed. The nobles chatter quieted for a moment, each turning to gawk at the hulking man. Dorian found himself envious of Bull’s confidence, at times. Dorian has confidence in his ability, absolutely. But the kind of confidence Bull has was something else entirely. Varric nods to Bull, but carries on his story telling to a Ferelden noblewoman, who seems to be more infatuated with the man’s chest hair then his story. There’s a moment of hesitation before stepping out and greeting the other man. It’s easy enough for Dorian to keep up at least the pretense of nonchalance, but it didn’t take an ex-ben hassrath to see through it. Bull’s face changes the moment he sees Dorian, and Dorian absolutely does not find find that crooked grin- _cute_.

~~~

Bull figured after this long apart Dorian would find his way to great him. He didn’t expect a greeting like Elle got from Sera. The south had been good for him in many ways, but he wasn’t about to give up all pretenses. Especially not in the presence of strangers. Though when he laid eyes on the mage he found it difficult not to scoop him up right there. He’s become a constant in Bull’s life. It’s not totally uncommon for him. Fighting by another person side day in and out has a way of breeding togetherness. But this, this was something else entirely. And Bull finds himself at a loss to describe it.

Dorian approaches him casually enough, the slightest curl at the edge of his lips, but affection shinning brightly in his eyes.

“I assume that you returning relatively unscathed means the world is now short another Dragon?” He says, eyeing Bull carefully, no doubt looking at the new soon-to-be-scars around his shoulders and chest.

Bull looks Dorian up and down and carefully schools his expressions. Dorian, of course, is as handsome as ever, but his skin appeared dull and dry. Dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes seem to fit him looser then a few forgotten meals would account for. Bull moves closer, lets himself laugh.

“Should have been there, Kadan, it was a hell of a fight!”

Could be Dorian had gotten ill while he was away. It was common enough for it to happen during this time of the year. But Dorian wouldn’t bother fixing himself up, he’d stay in his room. And there where no other indicators of illness. No sheen of sweat from a fever, no sniffling or watery eyes. Bull stops himself from reaching out to feel the man’s forehead for fever, knowing that he’d get more then an annoyed glare from the mage. There’s a moment of silence between the two, and Bull noticed Dorian glancing around before surging up to plant a quick chaste kiss on his lips. He looks down, seemingly unable to keep eye contact after such a public display.  
“I am glad you’re back.” He says so quietly Bull thinks he may have imagined it.

And Bull wonders, somewhat foolishly, if Dorian’s current state has something to do with his absence.

 ~~~

Now that was a ridiculous thought. And it had to be something else entirely. Dorian made a quick exit after that welcome back kiss, leaving Bull standing in the hall a long while, absorbed in his own thoughts. No one person had thrown him off so completely before.

“He’s a bit of sad sack without ch’a he is.” A familiar voice says beside him. Sera stood looking up at him.

“Yeah,” -is all he manages looking back to where Dorian had once stood before him.

“Feels more then he’s lettin’ on, you know it. Gotta do somethin’ ‘bout it, yeah?” She points out, though it’s not really new information. Dorian is all biting comments and suave sophistication at least on the surface. And all Bull knew about his past came from bitter obscure comments, that Dorian kept close. Even at his most venerable, he refused shed all veneer.  
Bull responds to Sera vaguely, and almost entirely non-verbally. Which she doesn’t seem to notice, fallowing The Inquisitor up to her quarters with a sly grin on her face. She looks back at him with her tongue lulling out between two fingers. Bull shakes his head, allowing an amused smile that crosses his face. His thoughts turn back to Dorian. He scrubs his face with his hand before lumbering off to his own room.

 ~~~

Despite everything there’s comfort in returning to a room. His room. It’s something that he’d never experienced. Out with The Chargers things where temporary, that included living situations. It was all drafty Inns and draftier tents. Occasionally working for nobility offered more luxurious accommodations, but nothing like Skyhold. Bull’s smart enough, or at least experienced enough, to know that nothing was safe. That no one is ever truly safe, but there was a feeling of security here. It’s small, but enough that he’s stopped reaching for the hand axe tucked under the bed at every creak, every knock on the door. And somewhere, deep down, Bull knows that he should be disconcerted by this feeling. The nagging feeling that he should always be on guard. That at any moment his ‘allies’ could cut his legs from under him...

Because that’s what the Qunari did.

Bull almost throws his gear down at the memory. His grip tight around the buckles of his armor, his jaw clenched so hard it aches. He breathes carefully, regaining control over himself again. It’s just a feeling, let it pass, he reminds himself, even as his jaw clenches harder. A knock comes from the door. He breathes again carefully schooling his expressions and his voice.

“ ‘s open.” He says as he racks his armor. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. The rage subsides, though not completely. It never does.

He knows it’s not Dorian. They’re both past knocking at this point. Sera’s busy, which means so is The Inquisitor. So that leaves...

“Hey Tiny,” Varric says casually “How’d the trip go, you enjoy yourself?”

Varric wasn’t much of social calls like this. He’d ask but he wouldn’t come to Bull’s room, he’d wait until drinks at the tavern. So, he’s angling for something, Bull concludes. Varric could be nearly unreadable, but he has his rituals and habits just like everyone else. A stone face only helped him during Wicked Grace.

“We killed the dragon, If you haven’t heard by now. Sera and The Inquisitor are off on their victory lap right now.” Bull plays along. The joke managed a chuckle from the dwarf.

“Figured you and Dorian would be as well.” There it is. The slight downward turn of his lips and the lightness of his tone changing slightly to something more solom. This is something to do with Dorian.

“Was there something you needed, Varric?” Bull asks innocently enough, but unable to completely hide the concern in his voice.

“You saw him,” Varric starts, knowing he doesn't need to say who _he_ was. “It may not be my place, but maybe he’ll listen to you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive. And I'm so sorry. Survived the Holiday OT and....
> 
> Fallout 4's a thing. and it's very distracting. Thanks for sticking around and putting up with my irregular updates. I've decided on at least ten chapters, but that is subject to change. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and your kudos and your comments. It make my eyes get all big and shiny when I see them. If you notice anything glaring....the usual.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Bull talk.
> 
> Cole and Dorian talk.

“Every time I bring it up he shuts me down,” Varric says. “I might even be wrong, but he doesn’t deny it or even deflect it. He just walks away.”

“So,” Bull says carefully considering what Varric told him. “You think he’s doing this to himself on purpose?”

“Oh, come on, Tiny, you’ve been around. Never seen the crazy shit nobles do to maintain their looks?”

Of course, he had. He worked for a Noblewoman who would bathe herself weekly in lukewarm red wine to keep her youthful looks. He knew of another who swore sleeping next to a virgin would do the same. Not fucking a virgin, mind you, literally sleeping next to one. The list of ‘weird shit nobles did’ when on and on, but they were usually mostly harmless, vastly different from Dorian starving himself. On top of that Dorian is smart, more than that even, brilliant. He would be able to suss out that bullshit a mile away. He’d know better than to outright starve himself.

“He’s always been pretty wrapped up in appearances,” Varric supplied. “Nobles are obsessed with how things look. And he was raised in all that, it’s hard to shake that shit off. You oughta know.”

Bull lets out an involuntary growl. The reminder that he’s Tal-Veshoth now is still something that didn’t settle well with him. Of course, it all just proved Varric’s point. But Bull has to be sure before confronting Dorian, or he might just destroy any trust they’d built for the past few months. If he went at this the wrong angle, Dorian would shut down. And if Varric was right, Dorian could quite possibly end up killing himself.

No pressure right?

“I’m open to suggestions, Varric,” Bull says after a moment.

“Ah, well- That’s the trick isn’t it.” He chuckles humorlessly rubbing the back of his neck. “We could go at this intervention style, the whole inner circle, ‘we’re your friends, Dorian’, ‘we only want what's best for you, Dorian’.”

“That’s a pretty terrible idea, Varric.” Bull lets a small smile cross his face. They sat for another moment in silence as if an answer might materialize before them.

“We could,” Varric pauses. “We could talk to the Inquisitor-”

“Varric-” Bull warns.

“Elle and Dorian are about as thick as thieves-” He starts to explain.

“We’re not bringing more people into this until I know this is actually something we need to be worried about.”

“Tiny, are you joking? You saw him! I’d say there’s something to be worried about!”

Bull knows that, somewhere inside him, but how could he not have noticed before Dorian had gotten to this point. Could he have read the mage so wrong? Been so wrapped up in his own plumage that he couldn’t see what was really going on?

Bull scrubs his face with his hand. “I just want to be sure, no sense in bringing the boss in on this until we know. She has enough problems, and worries far too much about us as it is.” Bull pushed himself up and headed toward the door.

Varric doesn’t move even as Bull pulls the door open. Bull lets out a sigh somewhere between irritated and resigned. “I said I’d talk to him, but Dorian’s not the confessional type. We hold an intervention- or whatever, he’s gonna shut down, hell, he might even leave entirely. I want to bring this up without doing that, alright.”

Varric shoulders drop a bit, and he echoes Bulls sigh. More resignation then irritation. Bull expects the last word from Varric, but it doesn’t come. He simply leaves without even a glance back at Bull. So, he either trusts Bull will get it done, or has accepted that this might just be a lost cause. Bull flops back down to his bed. A lesser bed would have buckled under the force. A few squeaks and groans, but not even a shift in the structure. The Quartermaster, as timid as he was, knew what he was doing.

Bull tucks his arm under his head, staring at the blue sky through the slippered roof as if it would give him solutions. All he sees is blue with occasional wispy swirls of white. No whispers from heaven, no writing from the maker, or whoever the hell is up there. He should be upset. Instead, he feels a twinge of anger rise from his stomach to his chest. A part of him wants to find Dorian and shake him, yell at him, but the anger isn’t at Dorian. It’s at the people who made him like this, Bull realizes. Varric was right about that, you don’t just shake that shit off. Beyond that, he’s angry at himself. How could he have missed this? Misread the mage so completely.

Though that wasn’t entirely true. He’d seen signs, little things that sent warning bells ringing in his head. But he’d brushed them off. If he hadn’t he could have- what? Not left for weeks? Forced Dorian to take care of himself? It was one thing if he’d been wrapped up in some research and things like eating and sleeping fell by the wayside; Bull could coax him away from his books. But if Varric’s right...

Well, shit.

~~~

Dorian buries his face in his hands with a frustrated groan. He’s read and reread this page over and over, scrawled notes in shaky handwriting and still he can’t seem to gather his concentration for more than a few seconds. He’s been whittling away for hours doing this with nothing to show for his efforts. Above him, he hears the flutter of wings and the screeching caws of Leliana’s damnable birds.

“It’s not the birds fault.” A soft voice says. Dorian jumps, pulling his head up to look at the frail form before him.

“Not now, Cole,” Dorian says exasperated, his heart still pounding in his chest. He should have expected this to happen, but one never does ‘expect’ Cole.

“You’re going to blame it on the birds,” Cole continues as if he didn’t hear Dorian. “If someone asks, you’ll curse the birds. But it’s not their fault.”

Dorian pinches the bridge of his noise. Dissuading Cole from his particular brand of therapy proved to be impossible in most cases.

“You always have an answer even when there’s no question,” Cole had arranged himself on the stool across from him. His knees pulled into his chest, the enormous brim of his hat cast his body in shadow. Dorian has never been afraid of Cole, he’d given the mage no reason to be, at least in the physical sense. But the things Cole could see- or perhaps sense about him, that was frightening.

There it was, the instinct to run again. It seemed the solution to all his problems. He ran from his family, his homeland, and once he had found friends he was prepared to run from them. No- not friends- Allies, Dorian corrected himself, though even he didn’t truly believe that anymore. In the south, we call our allies ‘friends’, Sparkler.

And there was Cole, not doubt still ‘listening’ to his own thoughts. ‘Never met someone who things as loudly as you do.’ Elle had once said. Cole looked at Dorian, head slightly cocked. As if he was sorting out which of Dorian’s thoughts he should pluck from his head and dissect.

“You’re hungry, it makes your head spin, but you still don’t eat,” Cole points out. “You have to eat to live, but you don’t. Because you can. A choice that isn’t really.”

“It’s not-” Dorian starts, but he can’t gather words fast enough.

“You don’t look like that, you know,” Cole says as if starting another conversation entirely. “You only look that way because you think you look like that.”

“Cole, I am in the middle of something-” Dorian says carefully.

“If people like you like this why change it? You were happier and now you aren’t.” Cole says, still huddled in shadow. “Why would you do that?”

“Cole, please.” Dorian stands, closing his book and returning it to the shelf. He can hear the boy shuffle behind him. He turns back around hoping that he might have left, instead, he’s standing, eyes obstructed, but Dorian can feel him looking.

“You think hurting is who you are,” He repeats distantly. “Let us help.”

“Us?” Dorian asks before he can stop himself.

“Your friends. Varric tried to help and you left, angry, hurt, confused. You have an answer when there is no question but no answers when there is one. You wanted friends and now you have them, so you want to run. Why would you do that?”

“Cole-” Dorian warns, emotion swelling in his chest.

“You’re afraid. It happened once, it will happen again. You’ll trust and they’ll betray.” Cole says.

“Enough!” Dorian shouts, the candles next to him flicker brighter, hotter. He can feel himself exude mana like a shield. The world seems to still around him, he can feel other researchers eyes on him. He breathes carefully, collecting himself. The flames surrounding him react in turn and he pulls into himself, regaining control. The flames go out entirely.

“You’re hurting,” Cole says. “I want to help.”

“There are some things you simply can’t help,” Dorian turns back to the bookshelf, and collects a few books, tucking them under his arm. He returns to his chair, adding the books to his pile. “Just, leave it be.” And, as quickly as he appeared, Cole was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news and bad news.
> 
> Good news: I got some writing jobs. Bad news: It's not what I want to be writing. Good news: I'm actually getting paid for it. Bad news: The pay is terrible and inconsistent. So I still need my regular job. Good news: I have a full-time job that pays me regularly so I can continue to pay my bills. Bad News: It's a retail job and very exhausting, so the writing I don't get paid for is still inconsistent. Good News: I'm still doing the writing I want to because I love it. So please forgive the irregular updates. Good News: I got proofreading software. Bad News: It's the free version so there still might be missed mistakes. 
> 
> In other news that may be good or bad depending on how angsty you like your fanfic, the next couple chapters I'm working on are a little rough for me to write. If you didn't know I'm recovered from an eating disorder. So I'm drawing on that experience. 
> 
> I really want to thank you guys again. You've all been really nice about this and I haven't gotten any hate at all for my slow updating. Your lovely comments sustain me. As always I hope you enjoy it. I'm working on a few other fanfics, not all Adoribull stories but most of them are. They'll be put up when I decide they aren't awful. 
> 
> You can talk to me on Tumblr if you'd like. dance-hall-dyke.tumblr.com =) I tumble on my breaks so at work, so I'm there a lot. Wasting time. Time that could be spent writing. I'm sorry.


	7. Chapter 7

Dorian’s back in front of the damn mirror again, looking in it like it had answers. The weeks of self-imposed restriction seemed to bring about little change to his body, his clothes hung looser, but when he shed them he found every flaw right where they’d been weeks ago.

It takes several moments before Dorian manages to pull himself away from the mirror. He covers it with a sheet as if it could break the spell it had over him. This is ridiculous- he thinks, brought to the brink of tears from a glance in the mirror. ‘Why would you do this?’ Felix had asked him once. There wasn’t a good answer then, and there isn’t one now.

“It’s so easy to make it about looks,” A voice breaks the echoey silence, Dorian spins to face the intruder and is met with the slight frame of a young man standing much too close. So wrapped up in his own thoughts it takes him a moment to fully understand who has invaded his personal space. He manages a step back as Cole’s heads lifts, his face is still so young- but the eyes give way to something deeper and unsettling. Dorian understands what Cole is - perhaps, not as well and Solas understands, but he understands nonetheless. It is, however, easy to forget when all you see is the features of a youth, his eyes are often cast downwards or otherwise obscured. Everything about him is so...young. Except for those eyes. Those eyes are old and striking against his otherwise youthful face. Dorian wonders distantly if it’s the reason he keeps his eyes cast down or otherwise obscured. He wonders if he understands that those eyes tell onlookers that he’s much more than simply an ‘odd young man’.

“Cole,” Dorian manages, relief washing over him. As unsettling as the visage can be, he’s familiar and safe- or, as safe as something like Cole can be. “Please, we’ve talked about this,”

“It’s not really about looks,”

Cole’s looking at him - or perhaps more accurately - into him. As usual, he wastes no time in vivisecting Dorian, cutting him open to see the ugliness the mage has swept under and facade of arrogance and beauty. ‘We all have our own masks, Dorian,’ He hears his father’s voice, tightly controlled and projected out for maximum impact.

“No, I suppose it’s not,”

Cole lingers, looking into Dorian for much longer than Dorian wishes him to. The heavy silence is back with a vengeance and Dorian grasps at words kept tightly locked away for so long as if any word could describe the shape of the beast that has eaten away at him for a lifetime.

“I want to help,” Cole says suddenly. His eyes shift and suddenly that youthful innocence is bad. The unrelenting optimism of someone whose life has just begun.

“I’m not certain you can,” Dorian turns away from him as he feels a wave of exhaustion crash over him. He presses the balls of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to clear away some of the fog. “Just...leave me with it - for now.”

A full minute passes before Dorian feels the room empty again. Alone again with only the beast for company.

~~~

Now this, _this_ was a bad idea. Really terrible - maybe worse than Varric’s intervention idea. But it was also the only idea Bull had come up with. Something to make sure Varric was right. It felt a lot like manipulation, and not the sexy kind.

It wasn’t a plan out of the blue, he’d thought of doing something like this for Dorian for really no reason at all. Something nice, that would make him smile, roll his eyes, and chide Bull for being such a sap. He’d even gone to the trouble of procuring a few things through a few connections before this situation had even unfolded. He didn’t want to use them like this, but he’s at a loss for what else to do.

He decided to set up a whole spread. Olives, lamb curry, those terrible candied dates he loved so much. He could lay it all out pretty easily, the reaction to seeing food would probably tell Bull all he needed to know.

_And then what?_

The question had been needling at him since he’d hatched this ill-conceived plan. Dorian would no doubt have excuses galore, Bull’s hope is that the surprise would throw him off his guard just enough to pass the bulk of Dorian’s defenses. Then what? The question nagged at him again.

This is new territory. Most of his problems can be solved with a little thought and a lot of axe to the face - this situation requires much more of the former and virtually none of the latter. If Dorian is doing this to himself...There’s a low inexplicable anger that burns somewhere in the pit of his stomach. That in and of itself is disturbing. He’s been frustrated with the mage before, sure. Exasperated, often, but angry? This is new. He knows Dorian has a self-destructive streak, you’d have to in order to pull off the some of the stunts he managed but this - is something else entirely. He shirks it off, tucks it away in a far corner of his mind to pull out and examine at a better time.

Bull even considered outright ignoring Varric but seeing the mage in such a state...Varric was right about one thing. He couldn’t spend months attempting to coax the truth from Dorian. Not without risking serious damage on Dorian’s part. A bit of underhandedness is required, he decides, but once he gets the information he needs he can be more direct.

~~~

 _"Drinking alone ‘vint?" Bull says standing a few feet behind Dorian. The_ mage _startles, but only a bit, just enough for Bull to notice. This can go one of two ways, he thinks._  
_“I suppose I am,” He polishes off his ale. His third- Bull’s been counting. “You know how it is...”_

 _Bull sees Dorian bristle, he didn’t mean to say that. Two_ pints _have loosened him up just enough, and Bull thinks maybe he can finally coax the man out of his plumage. He lets the comment go and instead takes a seat by him, placing a bottle of ale on the table. It’s decent ale, nothing uncommon but certainly a step above the piss that’s being served up now. Haven is ash, Skyhold is just getting her legs back under her,_ decent _ale is the last thing on the inquisitor's mind - well, maybe not the last thing, but she certainly has bigger fish at the moment._

_“Might not be the kind of delicate wine you’re used to,” He sits next near him, leaving an empty stool between them. He wants to make sure the mage knows he’s not here to play grab ass. “But it’s decent, care to join me?”_

_Dorian meets Bull’s eyes - Bull can practically hear him thinking. It’s been going on since they met. Dorian trying to figure out who The Iron Bull really is - friend or foe. Bull took the opportunity to royally mess with him with some harmless flirting. It was hard to resist especially because he could feel Dorian sizing him up in more than one way._

_But that’s for another time. Dorian nods his acceptance and Bull pours a generous amount into each cup._

~~~

Dorian stands in his alcove, arms crossed with his back turned to the rest of the library. There is nothing particularly interesting taking place outside his window this afternoon but he tries his best to pretend there is. What he wants to do is seek out Bull. He wants Bull to stroke his back in the way he does, he wants to listen to his heartbeat and fall asleep to it nestled safely in strong arms. What’s stopping you? He hears Cole’s voice.

_“You want him,” Cole says appearing next to him long after the rest of camp had gone to bed. “You could ask. What’s stopping you?’” A long pause. Dorian has nothing to say - what can he say to that. There’s no denying it, at least not to Cole. ‘He’ll say ‘yes’,” Cole finally finishes. That’s the problem, Dorian thinks._

Dorian feels the cold dagger of shame hollow him out. He kissed Bull, right there, out in the open. It wasn’t a secret but he could practically hear his father chastising him. He felt brave just long enough to make a complete fool of himself. _'I miss you_ ,' it was true - Maker help him - but he didn’t need to go off a behave like a lovesick maiden. Now here was behaving even more childishly, brooding in a corner. Dorian thinks about the man he was just a few months ago - before he’d left Tevinter before Felix died before he had The Inquisition before he fell in love...No, no, He thinks to himself. That’s a thought best left alone for a good long while. He might care very deeply for Bull, he’s prepared to admit that much to himself, but love is...

Not possible. Not for him. It was an ugly fact and a hard lesson he’d learned long ago as a child even as he’d witnessed his parents loathing for one another turn to icy indifference. He’d often find himself wondering if he should be doomed to the same fate, and as a younger man, the thought had filled him with dread. _“We all have choices, Dorian,”_ Alexis had said to him when he found him at the bottom of a bottle one night. He’d made a choice, and now he was free falling. Once his life was laid out, a clear path. Every step, every action, every detail was clear. He’d made one choice, and suddenly his life was uprooted. Suddenly there was no path, no obvious place to go. There was only one thing for certain; he could never go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see! Anyway, I'm back, I'm going to start this up again. It's a shortish update but an update nonetheless! I hope you enjoy this chapter and if you wanna chat I'm on tumblr: solitary-woman.tumblr.com/ come talk to me! I'm currently rewatching star trek so I hope you're prepared for the fangirling about that.  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Bull had set it all up, though he wished it was under more favorable circumstances. He wished that this could have simply been a nice thing, with no ulterior motives. He thinks about Dorian upon seeing the table set up in his room-- dates, olives, lamb curry, all the things that he loves-- the way he might roll his eyes and smile in that particular way he does. Then he thinks about the alternative-- Dorian’s eyes wide, his features washed with anxiety. He’d try his best to keep it hidden, keeping his expression neutral but that would only cause him more distress. Dorian knows that Bull can see through that act. These thoughts only serve to twist more guilt into his gut. Above all, Dorian is clever and it won’t take him long to see what Bull has done.

Despite all his misgivings, he carries out his plan. He meets Dorian in the Tavern and before long has his hulking hand draped over Dorian’s thigh under the table. It’s best to get this done early, so Bull inches his hand up-- slowly, and can feel Dorian shudder next to him. It’s been a while for them, and their both eggar and needy. Bull can feel his cock stir to life when he hears Dorian's breath hitch as he leans into the other man’s touch. For a moment, Bull thinks how easy it would be to simply throw Dorian over the table and take him, right there for all to see-- and with the sizable bulge growing in the other man’s pants Bull wonders if he would even mind the public display. But, no, he has a plan and he’s decided to follow through. He leans down and whispers, so low it’s a growl, an invitation to his room. He can feel Dorian nearly melt into him, nodding, as if he had lost the ability to speak. Bull pushes himself up and walks swiftly towards his room with Dorian trailing just behind him. He thinks he could simply sweep the mage up in his arms and carry him-- thinks of all the times he’s done that before-- but pushes those thoughts away. Though once he reaches his door he can’t stand it any longer, he turns on his heels to face Dorian who in turn rushes Bull. Dorian molds their mouths together in a rough kiss. Bull swings the smaller man around so his back is to the door. Dorian huffs a breathless laugh and reaches back desperately feeling for the door handle, upon finding it he turns it and Bull pushes him into the room. They almost stumble and topple over onto the floor, and for a moment they are both so entangled in one another they forget all their surroundings. All Bull can hear are the tiny noises coming from Dorian. All his senses hone in on the other man, his smell, his taste and the heat between them. It’s only when they break to gulp down a few breaths does Bull remember the point of all this, and Dorian also turns to see the table set just a few feet away.

Ages seem to tick by as Dorian stares. The light is low, with just the fire in the hearth that’s burned down almost completely to embers, so Bull’s study of the other man’s face doesn’t reveal much. He looks at the table like a man who’s never learned to read might look at a letter. Bull lets out a laugh, deciding to charge ahead, still holding Dorian. “Yeah, well, surprise!” Bull says, grinning. “Call this a welcome back.” He watches Dorian carefully. He watches dawning realization and the flash of panic that told him what he needed to know.

“Bull...what...” He lets Dorian slip from his embrace. “What’s all this?”

The other man appears as a shadow in the room, an outline blocking out the dim light emanating from the embers. Dorian’s back is to him, and though he can’t see a face he sees the evidence of Varric’s claims. Dorian has always been small compared to him--everyone is-- but he’s never seemed _fragile_. He should have noticed when he had the mage in his arms, but he was too busy thinking with his cock. He notices a tremble in Dorian’s hand as he reaches for the table to steady himself. _Might be the cold_ , Bull thinks and it becomes utterly apparent that Bull is making excesses the same way Dorian has - and will again. Bull makes his way to the hearth to stoke the flames.

“I won’t lie,” Bull says, choosing words carefully as he adds a few dry wood chips to the fire. “I thought about this for a while.” He stands to face Dorian and sees a complicated string of emotions as the man processes his words. His eyes widen and his eyebrows knot-- for just a moment. Then a mask appears and suddenly the suave mage is back. He puts on a cocksure half grin and rolls his eyes. “I never took you for a romantic,” Dorian says, feigning disinterest. Under normal circumstances, Bull would bite back to Dorian’s quip and the two would go on until Bull would offer to ‘ _put that mouth to better uses_.’ This time he lets out a huff of laughter and makes his way to pull a chair out for Dorian. He earns an exaggerated eye-roll but he can see Dorians breathing has become quick and shallow, his eyes dart momentarily towards the door - it’s instinctive- Dorian’s scared and weighing his options. There’s a twinge of shame the curls inside Bull, but now he knows what he needs to know. He keeps his face in place as Dorian sits and Bull leans in close.

“I’m full of surprises,” He says in a low voice and feels Dorian shudder. He’d like to believe it’s for the right reason, that perhaps Dorian might be letting his guard down, but he doesn’t respond. There’s no witty quip because Dorian is trying to come up with an exit strategy. Bull can practically _hear_ the mage’s mind whirl. Bull takes his seat and watches Dorian. Long moments seem to pass. And finally Dorian speaks.

“What’s all this about?” Dorian asks. “Planning something particularly devious tonight?” There’s a flippancy to his tone that doesn't match the seriousness in his eyes. Oh, he has his rakish grin, but Bull can see past it now. His shoulders are tense, his breathing still quick and his eyes are just a bit wide around the edges. Bull more the anything wants this to just be something _nice_. Enough people had done this to Dorian. Meaningless kindness done in order to get something from him. Bull has to wonder if anyone had ever been kind to Dorian for the sake of it. People wanted things from Dorian, but never Dorian himself-- and it was something the mage was all too aware of. Now, here was Bull-- doing the same. Sure, it might be for better reasons, but it didn’t feel right. Everything inside Bull seems to echo a resounding sensation of ‘wrong’.

“Do I need a reason?” Bull says and he casually serves Dorian, as silence stretches on and Bull tries again. “Dorian?” he asks. “You’re not eating.” It’s not a question. It’s just shy of an accusation.

Bull knows he's given it away because Dorian's eyes narrow. Dorian lets out a breath, “I suppose Varric talked to you?” Dorian stands, no longer relaxed enough to sit. The chair rocks back dangerously and clatters to the floor. Now, the game was up and everything was about to spill over. Bull stands and places himself between Dorian and the door before the mage could storm out. “Dorian,” Bull says again attempting to quell the storm of anger that threatened to overtake the other man. 

“Maker, I can’t believe this, how many others has that wretched dwarf gone off gossiping to!” Dorian turns away from Bull, no doubt knowing what an open book he was to Bull.

“It’s not just Verric, Dorian, I knew something was going on but I- you,” Bull isn’t sure how to explain it to him, Dorian was easy enough to read, but predicting exactly  _how_  the mage would actually act. He'd been groomed, but it was different from the way qunari or even other nobles where groomed. All of Dorian's behavior was defensive, but whether he would lash out or retreat inwards was always a toss-up. Often he would do both, it was often just a matter of predicting which would come first. It was so hard to pick through Dorian’s pain. The fresh wounds and the old where so tangled together it was impossible to know what would set him off and what the resulting chaos would be. He settled on practical. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“What exactly makes you think it’s has anything to do with you?”

“I’m your friend,” Bull says, though ‘friend’ seems like a poor description of what they are. He opts for something else. “Verric, The Inquisitor -”

“The _Inquisitor!_ ” Dorian looks ill. “Her too? Is the end of the world so trivial that you can take time to discuss my eating habits?”

“No-- listen to me, you have friends here Dorian, you’re not alone,” Bull schools his tone but he can feel the emotion rise inside him. The irrational anger that Dorian couldn’t let his guard down. That even during their most intimate moments, his walls were totally impenetrable, and because of that _stupid_ stubborn pride, Dorian was like to kill himself. “Are you so afraid of people caring about you?” The edge shows itself then, it has to, Bull has laid out his feelings for Dorian in a few words. Before him the mage seems to deflate, exhaustion settling in from the emotional outburst, too little sleep and even less food.

“Katoh,” Dorian says quietly after nearly a full minute of silence, his eyes fixed on the floor. Dorian pushes past Bull without another look.

~~~

Skyhold is mostly deserted this time of night, and Dorian thanks the Maker for that small miracle as he rushes through the cold echoey halls of the castle - but the Tavern was full and there was no doubt that his swift exit was overlooked. Although after his conversation with Bull he can’t bring himself to care. There’s anger, bright and fiery in his chest, yes there’s that, but there’s desperation-- like grasping for a rope after you’ve already fallen- and the barest edge of grief- hallow and heavy in his chest. The emotion is almost a physical sensation and when Dorian finally reaches his room he collapses into a heap on the floor from the sheer effort of concealing them for so long. It was too much to happen all at once and there was nowhere to go. _Bull,_ he thinks- normally he would have sought out Bull. Took comfort in him, but Bull was the thing he’d run form. _What a fine mess,_ he thinks bitterly. Skyhold; for all the brightness and wonder it had seemed to hold only days ago, now seems a solitude and desolate place. The fire inside him had died and even as the cold radiating from the stone floor began to seep through his robes he can’t bring himself to move. The weeks of self-abuse and the emotional outburst had taken everything from him--his limps are lead and he finds himself drifting off to blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys...
> 
> I did it...I'm back. Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel about this story other then I do what to finish it. I've been doing some original writing as well as trying some slam poetry so I've been very distracted with that. Reading the first part of this story I can actually see some difference in my writing. I think it has a lot to do with meeting other writers and being inspired by them. Please tell me what you think. I know it's been spotty updates and probably always will be...life it weird. I'm working on it.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly set up. Sorry if it sucks. If you notice anything glaring, be gentle.


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